imperfect, impermanent, incomplete
by CaptainTsukiko
Summary: Let it rain blood.


"That's not right. Do it again."

How many times has this been now?

How much longer is this going to go on..?

.

More importantly...

How long have I been here?

A month? A year? A decade?

Takaba lifted his head to gag.

.

He smacked the metal pipe over Takaba's head again. _It hurts._ And the whimper he made came out torn, like a snake curling inside a flute. It rang for a moment in air, as an unseen echo.

"Ugh.." Takaba moved away slowly

The musk, lunar aroma overwhelms the head, heart and finally the loins.

It burnt, a slow sweet lick of white fire.

.

As a photographer of crime, his knowledge also carried the thing called 'unwilling pleasure.' The kind where rape victims document that they felt physical pleasure during the act. Purely physical response, that is. _Can he even count as a victim though?_ He thought as he licked a slow trail down Feilong's muscled torso.

He smells nice, of jasmine oil and gunpowder scented with roses. (They remind of Asami sometimes. Does Feilong know the smell of Asami too?) Takaba had come with him, willingly. So, is he still salvageable?

But it was for friends _. It's not my fault._ He held friends hostage.

But does it even-

A cough escaped Takaba's lips as he licked in the tip of the penis. But it feels good (its the aphrodisiac; he told himself) the hard appendage hanging between his legs was hard proof.

It's dirty. He felt dirty. Inches of musky dirt cover his skin nowadays, he scrubs it red. It doesn't go. No matter how much he tries. It's a witches' curse.

.

I'm dirty now.

That's what I am.

D-I-R-T-Y.

So very dirty, dirty, dirty...

.

Feilong's smooth claws grip Takaba's hair. Takaba thought some of it tore, for it hurt like hands cut on glass.

Takaba gone fast on him, with salty-sweet-bitter fluid stained lips. He can't breath from the heat, the nose feels clogged.

"Did Asami do it to you like this? Did he..." Feilong's whispers are always harsh. He's probably jealous from the likes. Takaba even said aloud it once; he got whipped on the back of his thighs. "Did he kiss you like you're a woman?"

 _Yeah, he's kisses me like I'm a cactus!_

He wanted to mock. But he'd hit him again if so. And his ass is sore, so Takaba glared at him instead through the sheer blind. Feilong is so poor. He's pitiable. So very ...broken and unable to find sight of broken pieces even though he tries. Takaba sometimes found himself wishing he wasn't a crime lord. So he might not have had to suffer.

"Asami would love seeing you like this-"

 _Asami..._ He can't recall his face as much now. The numerous drugs take too much effect. But Takaba tries his best, trying to cling to reality. _Is he worried? For me?_

 _Is he coming for me-_

He snorted in his head.

Who is Asami. Some big ass lord from hell. He probably played and threw away. And Takaba's now lying with those expired milk, rotten-rotten eggs fish torn paper and used women's napkins in his thoughts. And soon the crows would eat him anyway.

 _But.._ a little cloud of hope rises, _if he really didn't care about... this._

 _why did he get shot, for me?_

But he learnt his lesson by now. Hope is always contradicted. Nothing good comes from it. It's a pile of ideas; but all of them are pure shit.

.

 _But he.._. he still thought when Feilong's finished and his lackey is 'escorting' Takaba back to his ragged, stained cage... _Asami might come._

.

Asami should come.

.

Asami will come.

* * *

Feilong smoked a veil around him. The moon looks strange. So round and so stony. Feilong's wound sparked again. In that same burning, searing and sweet way. Yoh is acting strange these hours, sporting that sickening guilty look in his impassive, sea-foam eyes. And Asami Ryuchi should make a move by now. But Feilong detected nothing.

(They're all strange, father. Feilong tugs at his fathers sleeve in a blossoming world. The blossoms are annoying a as they are beautiful, they get in his hair and he has to brush them away repeatedly.)

The skyscrapers look like long bricks of light. What is their life, those who live in those bricks? Is their life so dull too.

'Disappear... everything. Just go your own way and never come back.'

He closed his eyes and let his heart smoke. They say it helps with tension or something or the other—

* * *

Asami sat on a couch as Kirirshima finished dressing his wound.

Takaba is alright. Just bright and stupidly optimistic like always.

He breathed put, running hand through smooth-dry hair, absent from its usual thick gel. That little rodent wouldn't go down that easily. The smell of rain felt annoying, flashes of thunder even more irritating.

He's alright.

He's always okay.

 _(Takaba lay battered and bruised. Dead, matte eyes stared dead into me.)_

He'll be fine.

.

("Sucking my fingers in..." I push in deeper, he's reduced to groans now. The little tsundere. "Enticing me." He's flushed and wanting. Just how it's nice.

"Asami..." He always does what I expect and don't. "M-more... Deeper."

He wants more.

So I do.)

He'll be fine and we'd watch the sea together. He would like that.

.

 _Then- why are you becoming restless?_

Inner guns fire much accurately, don't they. It makes Asami sneer.

"Contact Yoh."

He can feel his eyes burning.

"I want this finished as fast as possible."

.

That was the first time he saw Kirishima tremble.


End file.
